Some Nights
by KR Blake
Summary: In which Austin reflects on his nights with Ally. One-shot.


There are some nights he likes more than others. There are some nights where they argue and argue and argue at the top of their lungs. They scream at each other until their throats are raw, and then they fall completely silent. Sometimes she'll walk away, and sometimes he will. It depends on who was right.

He doesn't like those nights much. He doesn't like to argue with her, because afterwards her eyes fall into sadness, and he can't take it. That broken look on her face gets to him every time. He hates seeing her so sad, and he hates it even more to know that he caused it.

Those nights tear him apart.

Then there are the nights where they don't say much: Their mouths are a little too busy for talking. Maybe she is sitting in his lap, and maybe they lay out on the couch. It really depends on the day. His hands are placed on her waist and hers lay on his chest, sometimes lazily, and sometimes clinging onto his shirt so tightly she crinkles the material.

Those nights are like dreams to him. Those are the nights where he can't quite believe that she's his. When he wakes up the next morning with her tucked into his side, still sleeping peacefully, it takes him a moment to believe that they are together. Those are the nights where he keeps expecting to wake up from this dream with a smile on his face and a hole in his heart where she should be. But, thankfully, that never happens.

He only smiles down at his sleeping other half and snuggles back down, closing his eyes and lulling back to sleep.

Those nights make him feel like he's floating on a cloud.

Then there are the nights where they sit together in perfect silence, cuddling, watching TV. Well, he'd be watching the television; she'd be reading one of her endless books, losing herself completely in the story. Sometimes he'd tuck his chin into the crook of her neck and start reading with her. She'd giggle, rolling her eyes, but she wouldn't stop him. The closeness is nice to her.

These nights make him feel like they have been together forever. They make him feel like an old man in love—like they have grown up and grown old together, even though they are still in their twenties. They are nice, and they make him smile sweetly. When her eyes would finally tire of reading, she would yawn, curl up into his side, and let her eyes flutter shut. Sometimes, though, she wouldn't even get that far. She would fall asleep with the book falling on her face. He would chuckle at this and remove the book, repositioning her so she would be comfortable as she slept.

He felt so seasoned in these nights. He liked feeling seasoned.

Then there are some nights where they can't fall asleep side by side. For whatever reason—concerts, or trips to visit family members that he hadn't seen in a long time—he didn't like those nights at all. He never slept well on those nights. He always misses her warm body curled up next to him. He always misses her steady breathing, and that little hitch in her breath sometimes, kind of like a snore, but cuter to him.

Sometimes he'll call her, and they'll talk for a little bit, before falling silent. They'll listen to each other breathing, and relish in the peace of it. Those times he doesn't mind it quite so much, but he still doesn't sleep quite right. Not without her.

These nights feel somewhat empty to him. They're the nights when he lays awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking about her. He tries to focus on some little thing about her—her scent, her eyes, her smile—that could help him fall asleep. But all this does is keep him up longer, focusing on more things about her, like her laugh, and her voice, and her hair…

He wonders if she's thinking of him, too. He wonders if she misses him as much as he misses her, or if she has just fallen asleep like any other night.

He hopes she misses him, too, but not too much, because he doesn't want her heart to hurt like his does.

He doesn't like these nights.

And then there are nights like these—when they're lost in the music once more, like when they were kids. They sit side by side on the piano bench, him humming low notes, and her playing the keys in that special way only she does. The way she plays brings a whole new level to the definition of "_artist_". Her fingers fly across the keyboard in an expert way and, just slowly, a smile works its way across her face as the song begins to take form. He loves that smile, because it's the smile that only he gets to see. It's the smile she keeps especially for these moments when they go back to where it all began with them. When they're writing music, it's like everything about them reverts back to its simplest form; when they were best friends who wrote music together, and loved each other more than they would ever even imagine loving themselves.

They still love each other the same way, of course, but as the music fills them, everything else melts away. They become sixteen again, still young and shy around each other. She'd blush every time their fingers brush together, and he'd find himself wondering what her lips would feel like against his.

They become teenagers in love, but not quite. They simply just become Austin and Ally.

And these nights are his favourites, he thinks.

* * *

**So here's a little belated Valentine's gift from me to you! Sorry it's late; I had a lot of APS and math homework to do last night. So... Happy February 15th, I guess! I love you, guys. You're all my Valentines. Hugs!**

**-KR Blake Ω **


End file.
